


At The End Of It All

by came0s



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Babies, Detectives, Drabbles, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Non-Chronological, Pining, Pregnancy, Romance, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Workplace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-19 05:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/came0s/pseuds/came0s
Summary: Through the thick and thin of it, it would always be this way: she'd have him, and he'd have her. It didn't matter what had come before, anymore. All that mattered was now, and that was enough for him.[Cormoran/Robin, a collection of non-chronological drabbles, daily updates]





	1. The Start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dory/gifts).



> hi this is a drabble series, they're all loosely connected but it's non-chronological just to mess with you... treat it as a mystery if you like! this first one is set pretty much directly after coe for your convenience, but things won't stay in this time frame for long

 

It had been two weeks since the wedding, and Cormoran Strike had never felt time pass more slowly than it did now. He was forced to spend most of his days trapped indoors thanks to his injuries, and not to mention the swathes of paparazzi that had been barricading the front door lately, hoping to get a picture of the elusive mystery solver who’d just successfully cracked the case of Kelsey Platt’s murder. 

Despite this monumental achievement, however, Cormoran felt miserable. He would have liked to have been able to tell himself that it was just the adrenaline dip, but he knew well enough that there was far more to it than that.

The lack of Robin behind the front desk made his body weary every time he passed through from his grimy office to his even grimier upstairs apartment. He missed her; he missed the cups of tea, the conversation, her endless enthusiasm for the job. However, despite the sorry state of their current relationship, he did anticipate her arrival at nine o’clock that morning, just the same as before. He had offered her her job back during his hasty appearance at her wedding reception, and needless to say, she had happily taken him up on his proposal (much to Matthew’s displeasure).

He hoped — but did not expect — that things would go back to the way they were upon her return, but two major elements of their relationship had since changed forever. 

Firstly, they’d had had their first real fight. Cormoran knew that it would be naive to say that it won't have scuppered their trust for one another, so he fully anticipated a good amount of awkwardness when she did finally come back. Secondly, she would no longer be Robin Venetia Ellacott when she returned... but _Mrs Cunliffe_. It really shouldn’t have been a big deal, as ever since the day she'd first walked into his life, he knew she wouldn’t remain the Miss Ellacott he first met, but the title seemed to add another thousand miles of distance between them. It did nothing but discomfort him.

Sitting impatiently at his desk, he watched the minutes tick by in the corner of his laptop’s screen: 8:58, 8:59, 9:00, 9:01, 9:02… Surely she wouldn't be late for her first day back?  Cormoran stood up, mouth twisted into a frown, barging into the front office and standing by the leather sofa grumpily, looking out the window, watching pensively for a head of strawberry-blonde hair bobbing down the narrow street. 

All of a sudden, the door opened, and he spun around, heart leaping and eyes widening, gaping at Robin as she entered. She shook off her wet umbrella, and a small, nervous smile curved her pretty mouth.

“Morning,” she said, a little out of breath from climbing the stairs, “I’m a bit late. Sorry.”

“… Didn’t even notice,” he replied.

“I was picking up some tea bags from the shop, they were on offer.”

“Ah," he replied, lamely.

"I'll put the kettle on."

She disappeared into their little kitchenette, and his head turned to follow her as she went.  Suddenly, he had a strong feeling that things would work out fine. 


	2. Nancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to reiterate the non-chronological nature of this series... i'm designing it in a way in which the reader has to guess what's happened/what's happening, so have fun, leave some comments about what you think, hope you enjoy!

“Nancy.”

Isla immediately snorted, putting down her glass of champagne with a wry smile. Nick, her husband of nearly ten years, looked at her just as quizzically as Cormoran and Robin did. She glanced around the table over their mostly empty plates of food, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at their expressions.

“What?” Robin laughed breathily in a half-hearted bid to cover up her offence; she knew Isla well, and was fairly sure that she wouldn’t have meant any harm… at least, not any intentional harm.

“Like Nancy Drew?” Isla asked, setting her glass down next to her bowl of half-eaten carbonara. “The detective?”

Cormoran, sat opposite, frowned — _deeply_. He wasn’t a fan of clichés, and had already gone to painstaking efforts to avoid making one in the process. Alas, no matter how hard he had tried, clearly he had still made a blunder (and a fairly obvious one, at that).

“Hadn’t thought about that,” he muttered, glancing to Robin on his right while shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“I still like it,” Robin said, shrugging back at him.

The waiter came to refill their glasses.

“I wish I hadn’t said anything,” Isla despaired, having noticed Cormoran’s wrinkled nose and unpleasant expression; she waved her hands dismissively, and her wedding ring glinted in the fancy restaurant lights, "forget what I said, Corm, I love it. It’s cute.”

A brief pause. Cormoran didn’t particularly like _cute_ , either.

“Anyway, it’s too late, now,” Nick cheerily chipped in, referring to the very important, legally-binding and virtually unchangeable document that Robin and Cormoran had just collected from Camden registry office.

“True,” Robin reasoned. Unlike her partner, she didn’t have such strong disdain for ironic names. After all, Venetia came from the place in which she was conceived; _compared to that_ , she thought, _Nancy is hardly criminal_.

The group collectively glanced down at the baby sleeping peacefully in the pram next to the table, a hat hiding tufts of pale brown hair and tiny pink mittens covering a pair of wrinkly little hands. 

“ _Nancy_.”

The four adults sighed contently in unison.


	3. Incoming Text Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a weird one

_Robin 11:38_

_Pick up some milk on your way back, we’re out_

 

_Strike 11:41_

_Will be a couple hours. Fish tie’s having lunch with 2nd girlfriend_

 

_Robin 11:42_

_Say no more._

 

_Robin 11:49_

_Btw don’t forget about your meeting at 3_

 

_Strike 11:49_

_Meeting?_

 

_Robin 11:50_

_Accountant_

 

_Strike 11:53_

_Cancel it?_

 

_Robin 11:54_

_They threatened they’d drop you if you rescheduled again_

 

_Strike 12:00_

_Fuckers_

 

_Strike 12:09_

_Fancy a drink at pub tonight? Happy hour at 8_

 

_Robin 12:10_

_No I’m leaving early tonight!_

 

_Strike 12:14_

_Why_

 

_Robin 12:15_

_Matt’s 30th this weekend… Been on the calendar for a month_

 

_Strike 12:36_

_Oh yeah forgot_

 

_Robin 12:44_

_Another time?_

 

_Strike 12:59_

_(Typing…)_

 

_Strike 13:03_

_(Typing…)_

 

_Strike 13:07_

_Yeah sure_

 

_Robin 13:09_

_See you Monday_

 

_Strike 13:11_

_See you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave comments! :)


	4. Curry House

The moment Robin walked into her flat, the heady stink of cheap, nasty Indian curry immediately hit her full-force. She was expecting company tomorrow, and unfortunately this was the kind of smell that would stay in her curtains for days and come back fresh to smack her in the nose every time she came back in from outside for the next week. 

She stepped into the living room, frown on her face, only to find Cormoran Strike sat on the sofa, prosthetic off, and eating chicken madras straight out of the box while gazing intently at the TV. Match of the Day was on.

“Cormoran Strike, you know my mum’s coming over tomorrow,” she sighed, picking up an empty bag that once contained a naan bread, from the looks of it. 

“So?” He replied, mouth full, eyes still on the telly. 

“This smell’ll be in here for days, just like last time,” she sighed, walking out of the room and dumping his rubbish into the bin, “and mum hates curry.”

“I fancied it,” he called, and she could almost hear his shrug from the kitchen. 

“Did you even get _me_ any?” She replied grumpily, shrugging off her coat and taking out a candle with some vague hope of being able to burn off the smell before it absorbed into the soft furnishings. 

“Yours is in the fridge.”

Robin paused in surprise. 

They hadn’t been living together for very long yet, and their mutual sense of co-habituation and co-dependency was still in its early stages of development. Really, it hadn’t occurred to her that he actually _did_ buy her food, despite him not knowing when she was getting back in or whether or not she’d have eaten already. It struck her how well they’d gotten to know one another.

“… Did you get any—”

“—mushroom rice?” He finished her sentence for her, shouting from the living room, “Yeah, yeah. ‘Course I did.”

She opened the fridge door, and the yellow light immediately shone a pleasant glow across her face. Her lips curled into a small smile as she spotted her meal; _Robin was_ scrawled messily on a pink post-it note stuck to the top of it. 

“You didn’t have to,” she said, reentering after heating it up in their microwave and joining him on the sofa.

“I wanted to,” he replied, glancing back at her. There was a moment of tenderness between them that quickly broke as he looked away. “Besides, I knew you’d be pissed off about the smell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment and maybe leave suggestions of the kinds of drabbles you'd like to see :)


	5. You Love It

Cormoran had been sat on the leather sofa in the front office for maybe an hour or two, quietly researching for a case while Robin worked at her desk. His thighs were beginning to burn from the heat radiating from his laptop’s fan, and his temples throbbed dully from eye strain. He pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging slowly; if he were the type to nap, he would’ve gone upstairs to take one by now. 

“Headache?” 

He glanced up to see Robin watching him, her face an expression of concern. 

“I’ve got some aspirin in my bag, do you want some?” 

“No, no,” Cormoran muttered as he sat up, but she was already rooting through her handbag, “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to act tough,” she said wryly, taking out a box of Anadin and tossing them to him, “no one’s watching.”

“You are,” he grumbled, knocking back a couple of pills dry. Robin wrinkled her nose as she watched.

“I’m no one,” she said, standing up to make a cup of tea.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he chastised, throwing a disdainful look at her as he repositioned his laptop, bending the screen back towards him, “your opinion is very valued.”

“Oh, _is_ it?” She spoke over the sound of the tap as she filled the kettle, glancing back at him with a wry smile on her face. “Detective Strike, you’re getting soft.”

“And you’re getting too mouthy for my liking.”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed and turned her back towards him once again, pottering about around the counter, tossing tea bags in cups and spooning out portions of sugar. “You love it, really.”

He didn’t reply, but the rumble of the kettle sufficiently filled the unhappy silence that had wrapped itself around him. She hadn’t noticed the shift in his mood. Her eyes were too busy focusing on which kind of biscuit she’d like to take from the variety box ( _probably the shortcake, knowing her_ , he thought to himself). Cormoran took the chance to gaze intently at her, studying the small creases in her white shirt and the few strands of strawberry blonde hair that had been missed out when she’d pulled it all up into an unkempt pony tail a few minutes earlier. She looked unquestionably lovely.

With a weary sigh and a heavy heart, he heaved himself up, shutting his laptop with a sharp _snap_ and lumbering towards his office.

“Aren’t you going to have tea?!” Robin called, leaning out of the kitchenette to look at him while he walked away, her mouth full of shortcake. 

“Not thirsty,” he muttered in reply as the door banged shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, the clichés, i love them.. hope you enjoyed!


	6. Didn't He?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally some of robin's perspective

Robin had missed lunch. She’d gotten caught up tailing a suspect for a case, and hadn’t realised how hungry she was until she passed the Pret A Manger on Shaftesbury Avenue on her way back to the office at four o’clock. It was nice to take a moment for herself, nice to sit by the window and gaze out at the passers-by without having to look out for someone in particular; no pressure, no need to take out the discreet little spy camera Cormoran had given her for her birthday a few months ago. 

She had all the time in the world to sit and enjoy her heated up toastie… Well, she had at least until five o’clock, when Cormoran would start to worry and text her to ask where she was. 

Ever since the Laing case, he’d been particularly pernickety when it came to her safety. Robin supposed that it was only fair, considering the long, purple scar that sliced its way down her arm. What _wasn’t_ fair was how he continued to blame himself, as though _he’d_ been the one to plunge a knife into her bicep that night. They hadn’t discussed it, but Robin knew he still beat himself up about it, and she’d been making a conscious effort to not show her arm off too much at work. She didn’t like it when he was unhappy, and she liked it even less when she knew that she was the reason behind it. 

But despite his angst, it couldn’t be helped, now. _What’s done is done_ , she thought to herself, _and it’s not like I died_. She’d been through worse and come out the other side. 

Her phone buzzed — it was a bit early to be Cormoran, she thought. Nevertheless, she had a smile on her face as she reached into her coat pocket, some unexplainable part of her happy that he was thinking of her, that the fates had gotten him to contact her just as she’d been spending so much time thinking about him. 

_Matt <3 16:28_

_Don’t forget to pick up wine for tonight_

“Oh,” she muttered flatly to herself. 

Robin and Matthew were going to a much anticipated dinner party at his boss’ house that evening, and it had been the topic of the week at home. She couldn’t care less about it, but it meant a lot to Matthew, and Matthew meant a lot to her. 

_Matt <3 16:30_

_Get the expensive bottle please don’t skimp out_

She sighed.

_Robin 16:31_

_Don’t worry I’ve got it sorted_

Matthew meant the world to her.

_Matt <3 16:31_

_Thanks Rob love you x_

He really did.

_Robin 16:32_

_See you later x_

Didn’t he?


	7. A Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of mystery for you all

“A month.”

“No, Robin,” Comoran sighed irritably, “you can’t take a month off.”

She frowned, sat behind her desk, the glow of the computer screen reflecting on her freckled face. “What am I going to do if I have to stay at home longer than a month?”

Anyone else would leap at the chance of having extra time off. Not Robin. She was different. She loved her job. And for the first time, Cormoran found her eagerness exasperating. 

“Do I really need to answer that question?” He replied dryly, looking pointedly down at her rounded belly.

“You need me, Cormoran,” Robin sighed, lowering her hand down to smooth out her bump; her wedding band flashed as it caught in the lamplight. “This business needs me.”

He stood, stretching his arms up, exposing a patch of his own furry belly (although his was round for a completely different reason). A yawn rippled through him, and he glanced at his watch; nearly six. He couldn’t afford to pay her overtime, and yet here she was, working extra hours for free, despite her current condition. 

Cormoran straightened, looking at her seriously.

“I can manage perfectly fine without you for a few months.”

She snorted, looking back at her computer screen and tapping out a sentence on her keyboard. 

“Yeah, right… and this is coming from the man who hasn’t looked at the calendar since July.”

It was December, now. She was only a few weeks off her due date. The thought of it made him squirm a little. He retreated to his office, calling out a reminder of the time as he disappeared.

He heard her chair scrape as she stood up from her desk, and knew she would be gathering her things and pulling on her coat. 

“See you tomorrow!” She shouted as she opened the door.

“No, you won’t!” He called back.


	8. Something Fundamental

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest one yet! also special appearance: shanker

“Why’d you only ever go to church lookin’ like shite?”

Shanker was dressed in his nicest suit and was frowning at his best mate, whose appearance was anything but neat. Cormoran Strike had just finished a case, and, like many of his previous major investigations, it had ended in a nasty fight. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, his bottom lip had a few stitches in it, and his knuckles were wrapped a bit shabbily with bandages that really could have done with changing. However, what couldn’t be forgiven was the fresh splash of tomato sauce down his white shirt.

“I didn’t have breakfast,” he muttered, “got some chips from the van ‘round the corner and the bloody bottle burst on me.”

Shanker sighed, and tugged his friend’s suit jacket closed, successfully hiding the garish red stain. “Typical Bunsen. Getting dressed up don’t suit you. Hah— _suit_.”

He grinned at him, his gold teeth glinting in the light. Cormoran did little more than roll his eyes, swatting Shanker’s hands away and walking up to the front of the church. 

“At least I’m on time,” he muttered, spotting Robin Cunliffe stood by the door with her husband and their baby fussing in her arms, beautiful white christening gown almost shining under the May sun. 

They were welcoming guests, and Cormoran thought he recognised a few of them: there was Robin’s family, and a few friends he vaguely remembered from her wedding reception four years earlier. He queued up behind a woman who he thought might be Matthew’s sister, waiting his turn to greet the new mother and father as everyone diligently filed into the church.

“Cormoran Strike…” Matthew looked him up and down, a distasteful frown on his face as he shook his hand more out of show than for anything else, “You look as smart as ever.”

“You should’ve seen the other guy,” he drawled in reply, noting Robin’s look of disdain. “Congratulations.”

They both nodded their thanks. It was obvious to everyone that Matthew didn’t want Cormoran there, especially after the wedding fiasco; still, he seemed to want to make it even more evident, in case Robin hadn’t got the picture.

“At least you’re on time to this one.”

“Matt!”

“He’s not wrong,” Cormoran shrugged, refusing to rise to it; he flashed a smile that quickly shifted into more of a grimace as the stitches on his mouth stretched uncomfortably. 

“Matthew? The photographer’s here, he wants to speak with you,” an assumed relative interrupted, and both Cormoran and Robin were glad to see the back of him as he rushed off to organise the pictures.

A moment of silence followed. She looked beautiful; her skin was glowing, her hair was shining, and her dress showed off a figure that only pregnancy can give a woman. He cleared his throat, moving his eyes away from Robin’s frankly prominent bust and gazed down at the baby, whose face was reddening, and eyes welling with fresh, fat tears.

“She looks happy,” he murmured dryly.

“Yeah, well…” Robin sighed deeply, “It isn’t a proper christening if the baby doesn’t scream the whole way through, is it?”

“True,” Cormoran smiled, looking at her gently. 

Something fundamental had changed between them, lately. Robin thought that it was the hormones, or perhaps the large amount of free time she’d had since going on maternity leave; however, she knew deep down that really there was far more to it than that, but here was neither the time nor the place to analyse such changing sentiments. 

Shanker’s raucous cough broke off her train of thought; she turned, smiling wide, and greeted him enthusiastically as the baby continued to fuss. Strike took the chance to move quietly into the church, self-consciously tugging his suit jacket back over the ketchup stain, and trying to ignore the uncomfortable stir in his stomach as he sat down. 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments!


End file.
